Lord Roehampton was seated between an ambassadress and Berengaria, indulging in gentle and sweet-voiced raillery; the Count of Ferroll was standing beside Lady Montfort, and Mr. Wilton was opposite to the group. The Count of Ferroll rarely spoke, but listened to Lady Montfort with what she called one of his dark smiles. “All I know is, she will never pardon you for not asking her,” said Lord Roehampton. “I saw Bicester the day I left town, and he was very grumpy. He said that Lady Bicester was the only person who understood tournaments. She had studied the subject.” “I suppose she wanted to be the Queen of Beauty,” said Berengaria. “You are too severe, my dear lady. I think she would have been contented with a knight wearing her colours.” “Well, I cannot help it,” said Berengaria, but somewhat doubtingly. And then, after a moment’s pause, “She is too ugly.” “Why, she came to my fancy ball, and it is not five years ago, as Mary Queen of Scots!” “That must have been after the Queen’s decapitation,” said Berengaria. “I wonder you did not ask Zenobia,” said Mr. Wilton. “Of course I asked her, but I knew she would not come. She is in one of her hatreds now. She said she would have come, only she had half-promised to give a ball to the tenants at Merrington about that time, and she did not like to disappoint them. Quite touching, was it not?” “A touch beyond the reach of art,” said Mr. Wilton; “almost worthy of yourself, Lady Montfort.” “And what do you think of all this?” asked Lord Montfort of Nigel Penruddock, who, in a cassock that swept the ground, had been stalking about the glittering salons like a prophet who had been ordained in Mayfair, but who had now seated himself by his host. “I am thinking of what is beneath all this,” replied Nigel. “A great revivication. Chivalry is the child of the Church; it is the distinctive feature of Christian Europe. Had it not been for the revival of Church principles, this glorious pageant would never have occurred. But it is a pageant only to the uninitiated. There is not a ceremony, a form, a phrase, a costume, which is not symbolic of a great truth or a high purpose.” “I do not think Lady Montfort is aware of all this,” said her lord. “Oh yes!” said Nigel. “Lady Montfort is a great woman--a woman who could inspire crusades and create churches. She might, and she will, I trust, rank with the Helenas and the Matildas.” Lord Montfort gave a little sound, but so gentle that it was heard probably but by himself, which in common language would be styled a whistle--an articulate modulation of the breath which in this instance expressed a sly sentiment of humorous amazement. “Well, Mr. Ferrars,” said Mr. Neuchatel, with a laughing eye, to that young gentleman, as he encountered Endymion passing by, “and how are you getting on? Are we to see you to-morrow in a Milanese suit?” “I am only a page,” said Endymion.